


This Time it was Personal

by jonesy100000000



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, unemotional killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesy100000000/pseuds/jonesy100000000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'And you thought that I was dead,'</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Time it was Personal

**Author's Note:**

> Written around 5/6 years ago for my GCSE coursework but I quite like it.

As rain hammered down on the desolate hill, the girl sat down against the old, gnarled tree. She was young, barely past her 15th birthday but a rough life had hardened her features so she looked older. Rain penetrated her thin, ripped and dirty clothes which were too big for her skinny figure, but she did not seem to care; she was used to it. She threw the soggy cigarette from her rough hands onto the fresh grass and took a deep, heavy breath, it was her last one; she would have to acquire some more. Looking up to the overcast sky, she took a long swig from a bottle of vodka that had been lying by her side and thought about whether she would have any food later that night, hoping that she would not have to go without any again; she had had barely any for the last week and so, like most of the time, she was starving. A passing car on the road below alerted her from her thoughts and slowly and carefully, she picked up a worn riffle from its dilapidated case, held together with masking tape and bits of frayed string, tied in knots to keep it together. Silently and cautiously, she turned…

The house stood out at the bottom of the hill, chimney set at an odd angle from the roof of the house. Paint peeled from the rotting window frames and the windows themselves had obviously not seen a cleaner in a long time. There was a constant drip-drip sound as the water in the gutter started to overflow and hit the shabby paving stones below. A tumble-down shed was set at the bottom of the garden and it had small, children's bike propped up against it. A shiny swing swung slowly in the light breeze. The front of the garden contrasted with the back garden; the front seemed well cared for and looked after. The flower beds which surrounded the perimeter of the front of the house were immaculate, and the grass had been newly cut. The only sign of untidiness was a child's doll which had been discarded on the lawn. Two empty milk bottles had been left on the front step in readiness for the morning, were slowly starting to fill up with water from the rain. Exactly how she remembered it.

Her head followed the once-silver car as it turned from the puddle-filled road and into the driveway by the side of the house. The car did not fit in with the immaculate front of the house; one of the doors on the side of the car was blue where the rest of the car was not. The bumper at the back was threatening to fall off very soon and would occasionally scrape the surface of the road. The old number plate had been cracked and part of it was missing. The car spluttered to a halt, as if taking its final breath. The male driver got out, wrestling with the car door as he tried to slam it shut. It was time.

He staggered to the front door, obviously drunk; his worn trainers scuffed the gravel path. He cursed loudly as he stepped into a muddy puddle, his jeans now half drenched. As he reached the door, he fumbled with his keys. She knew he would; he had been drinking, just like every day of her old life, he hadn't changed. She took another deep breath and before the man had even a chance to put the keys into the lock, a volley of shots penetrated through his body shattering his spine and skull, spraying blood up the walls and onto the path. More blood that had fallen into the empty bottles was slowly turning the contents a pale, misty red.

'And you thought that I was dead,' she whispered.

Taking time to observe the horrific scene, the girl started to carefully pack away her riffle, taking care to make sure that it was secured properly n the case, lest it should break on her journey. She picked up her cigarette ends, taking great care to place them in her back pocket of her torn and faded jeans. As she stood up, she heard the click of a safety catch on a gun being unlocked, and slowly turning around she was faced with a gun pointed at her head. They had arrived. A single shot rung out…


End file.
